


Love Suffereth Long

by sniikt



Category: Wolverine (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:58:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sniikt/pseuds/sniikt
Summary: Funerals are hard. Funerals in the rain are harder.





	Love Suffereth Long

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a slut for ororologan and angst so that's why you have to suffer through this

The first raindrop landed on his hand. He studied it, moving his hand slightly, watching it roll back and forth, over the slight bump of his knuckles and claws. He looked up, at the dark grey storm clouds rolling in, beginning to cover the sun and darken the sky. Still staring up, his mind, the whirlpool of various memories that it was, supplied him with a memory of Ororo, lit up by lightning against a dark black sky. He watched their enemies look of shock and awe, and he looked up at her, a rare smile tugging on the corner of his lips, and a feeling of total love and loyalty running through his bones. 

He saw her afterwards, with raindrops on her cheeks and bare arms, and looking at the small smile on his own face seemed to break the serious look on hers, and she laughed all of a sudden. All of a sudden he’s laughing too--and he isn’t sure why he’s laughing--she just looks so beautiful, standing there with her damp hair and raindrops rolling off her dark uniform, and he couldn’t help the wave of happiness that ran through him, and the desire to spend the rest of his life at her side.

And then her hand is in his--soft, warm, familiar. She pulls him up from the table, and he almost drops his beer, but he couldn’t even be a little upset. He was never upset with her. 

“I don’t really dance, darlin’.” He said, even though he knew that if she wanted him to dance, he’d dance. Really, he’d do anything to make her happy. 

Then everything shifts again, and he’s standing next to the sink, and her face is studying his intently, and he feels the rough tug of a blade against his cheek, and he’s suddenly struck by how he never would have let anyone else put a blade so close to his neck, but she’s so soft, so good, and he trusts her completely. She suddenly gives him a grin, running her fingers along his cheek. “It looks good,” she says. “You look good.”

Then they’re in the danger room, and he’s looking at her, remembering all the times he wanted her, knowing that she was married--that she was with someone else, that she could never be his. But things are different now, she’s here to stay, and she’s single, and he should just reach over and kiss her, like he’s wanted to for years, but he can’t, she’s too important to him and he can’t lose her. And then suddenly she’s joking about all the times they were in the danger room together, insinuating that maybe she wants something more too, and before he even realizes he’s made a move, he’s kissing her, and it sets off sparks across his body, little jolts of excitement. And she’s so soft and warm, and she’s leaning into him, and he’s waited so long for this, and it feels so good.

All of a sudden they’re on a beach, and Ororo is saying that she’s going to smell like lake water for weeks, and why on earth does she let him convince her to do stupid things like skinny dip in a lake where anyone could see them. And he’s just laughing, because he knows that she’s not really mad, and this is so comfortable and easy, and he loves her. Completely, utterly loves her, like he’s never loved anyone before. He knows he shouldn’t say that out loud--this is new and new things are fragile, and the people he says I love you to end up going away forever but before he can even stop himself, the words are out there.

“I love you,” he says, cutting her off in the middle of her complaint about just how much bacteria lives in lake water, and it occurs to him that this isn’t the most romantic time to confess that he loves her. And she’s just staring at him, mouth slightly open, and he thinks he should say something--anything--but no words come and he just hopes he didn’t ruin one of the only good things he’s ever had. 

But she leans closer, kisses him slow, and soft, and passionate before mumbling a soft “I love you too” against his lips and then they’re making out and he wonders how opposed Ororo would be to having sex on the beach.

He’s at a pawn shop, and the owner is angry, but not as angry as Logan is. He feels bad, because he knows that he’s only so angry because of the way his heart pounds, and the butterflies in his stomach.

“If you want a nice ring, just go to a jewelry store.” The man at the counter tells him, leveling him with a look that says he should have done that in the first place.

“I can’t afford that.” He snaps, harsher than he intended. He knows that Ororo is a goddess and that she deserves the best but he wants to marry her, he can’t wait another second, but he’s not gonna ask empty handed either, and that’s why he needs a ring. He just hopes that she loves him enough to accept the offer, fancy ring or not. “Just give me the nicest one you have.”

The man looks at him again, anger flashing briefly in his eyes, before turning away. “Whatever. I feel bad for the poor broad who has to marry a cheap, angry thing like you.”

And then they’re laying in bed, and Ororo is crying, and it takes him a moment to understand why. She’s nodding, obviously searching for words, and she pulls him into a kiss, running her fingers through his hair with one hand, and resting her other hand on his. He pulls away and slides the modest ring on her finger. She studies it for a moment. 

“I’ll get a nicer one,” he tells her. “Soon, when we have more money, and the school doesn’t need so many damned repairs.”

“No.” She says, pressing a soft quick kiss to his lips and then pulling her hand close to her chest. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”

He smiles at her, her hair messy from sleep, sitting in a thin t-shirt and work out shorts, and he certainly didn’t mean to propose to her in bed on a Tuesday morning, but that’s how things worked out, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He wakes, pain shooting through his mind and body. He feels the familiar itch of cells trying to heal and reproduce, but he can’t figure out why. Why? What happened? He rolls over onto his stomach before heaving himself into sitting position.  _ Pain,  _ his mind tells him.  _ Pain, pain, pain.  _ He looks around before seeing Ororo’s form, down the hallway a little. There’s no heartbeat. No heartbeat. Fear coursed through his body as he forced himself on his feet and stumbled toward her. “Ororo,” he says, turning her over. Her eyes are closed. He can’t hear her breathing, or hear her heartbeat, but some sliver of him hopes. “Ororo,” he says again, brushing strands of white hair out of her face. “Darlin’, please.” He begins to beg, the fear that had settled uncomfortably in the bottom of his stomach getting the better of him. Tears begin to well up, and he shakes her a little. “Ororo, wake up. Please wake up. I can’t stay here without you. I can’t do this without you. I can’t--”

Cold, pounding drops start hitting Logan’s face. For a second, he thinks they’re tears, before he sees more drops hitting his jacket before rolling off and hitting the ground. Fear has joined the constant pain and sadness he feels, and he tries to swallow it down. The hand he has pressed into his pocket rolls the adamantium bullet back and forth, and he wonders, not for the first time, if he has any chance of seeing her again when he dies. He decides, also not for the first time, that he doesn’t--Ororo was so soft, and good, and if there was an afterlife, she was definitely on the good side of it, and that’s not where he was headed. He pulls his hand out of his pocket, leaving the adamantium bullet inside. He looks toward the graveside service, watching a man sob, his arms folded across his chest, with hands balled into fists.

Logan sympathizes. Life is too long for the living, too short for those it takes. He takes a long drink from the bottle of whiskey, and turns away, looking for cover from the rain. 

_ You used to love the rain,  _ some little voice in his head reminds him. And he thinks maybe he did, a long time ago. But that was before rain was some sick reminder of tears and the body of someone he couldn’t save.


End file.
